


A soldier on my own (I’m ready for the fight)

by WindyRein



Series: Dashboard Confessions [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Human Stiles, I Blame Tumblr, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Making weapons, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindyRein/pseuds/WindyRein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea might have always been there. He had a bat but sometimes that wasn’t enough and he ended up getting hurt. So, maybe something additional wouldn't be an awful idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A soldier on my own (I’m ready for the fight)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve seen enough of [Man at Arms](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUUGFk1wE5OHqeNDwp2q9_ZiPqKlWNc6V) and know enough about reality to realize the metalwork (and everything related to it) in this is nowhere near possible and/or real-sounding but, suspension of disbelief?
> 
> Written mostly under the influence of [Excuse Me While I Kill Myself](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hb2IyBzXGiU) and inspired by [this bloody gorgeous piece](http://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/62789865507/girleverafter-sinyhale-qhuinn-and) (and maybe a bit by the photo shoot Dylan did with that A Soldier On My Own shirt ^^’).
> 
> Title from [Woodkid's Iron](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSkb0kDacjs)

The idea might have always been there, just floating at the back of his head, somewhere at the bottom of his subconscious. Well, he says always, always _post ‘wolves_ that is. Because they had claws and fangs and super-healing and he had a bat but sometimes that wasn’t enough and he ended up getting hurt and - -

That’s not the point. The point is, he thinks while wrapping gauze around his arm post-yet-another-supernatural-skirmish, he needs something that can’t shatter, can’t be thrown away or crushed in a giant’s fist (and hadn’t _that_ been fun). So, he thinks about the ‘wolves.

He remembers claws and fangs and digs up his ancient research (he’d done it when twelve and bored and, yeah, maybe slightly obsessed; it was also very, very cool) on ninjas and weapons they might have used. He digs up pictures of something resembling claws on the back of his hand and he wonders.

He researches and plans and designs and researches some more. These are going to come out perfect and terrifyingly deadly once he’s through, he’ll make sure of it.

(and the entire time there’s a voice at the back of his head that wonders why he hadn’t thought of this before)

***

He...maybe should’ve thought more about the actual making process. He debates ordering them custom from someone on the Internet which may end up being total crap since the guy thought they’d be just for accessorising or something, but then again if he doesn’t order them then he’d have to make them himself and that...it would take time and he’d have to learn how to work with metal.

Decisions, decisions.

In the end it comes down to the fact that if he makes them (makes himself claws, and just the thought has him giddy) he’ll know they have all the defences he wants in them. He could lace a couple in an aconite solution; maybe try to get some rowan extract from Deaton, yeah, and make the ones for his fingertips out of cold iron or silver, which ever works best.

Things to ponder.

Things to wonder.

***

Of course, he never thought he’d fail this much or get this _frustrated_ with the whole project but he can work with that. He can work with frustration and failure. They breed anger and stubbornness and determination.

Until he just gets tired of the whole thing failing once again and just trashes his whole room in the bitter tasting anger that comes with failure.

He falls asleep right where he slumped on the floor only to wake up in the morning with his dad looking through his plans with an odd look on his face.

“You know, kid, this is impressive as hell but you’re not really working with normal materials. You can’t use the exact same methods here, I think.” and his dad looks at him with that same expression on his face and he finally recognizes it. It’s pride.

“You told me all this,” and he waves a stack of papers on the properties of aconite and mountain ash in his hand, “is about belief. Why don’t you try working with that?”

And he can only gape at his dad. How in the nine levels of Hell hadn’t he thought of that?

***

He starts working. He doesn’t think about alloys and impurities. He doesn’t think about dozens of failed attempts.

What he does think about is this: belief, magic in the surrounding world, the feeling of using his spark. And bit by bit, slowly but steadily, things start falling into place.

The iron doesn’t crack and crumble to pieces. The silver doesn’t just passively sit in the aconite solution.

The iron gets a dark sheen, the silver gleams purple in the right light, the glove-brace hybrids hint at protection runes.

***

Of course, no-one knows about his little project. He doesn’t want them to know and laugh or scoff or mock his baby (babies? whatever).

So, he brings them to the next battle.

The blood he draws is a beautiful flow or arc through the air when the omega’s throat gets slashed open.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if I've missed a tag, a warning or if my rating's completely out of whack :D


End file.
